Game
It was eating him away. He could feel it grabbing at him, tearing him apart shred by shred. It wouldn't be long now until there was nothing left of him to give, no piece of him remaining, nothing but the blank mask they wanted. Every passing day, he gave in a little more, lost a little more of himself. There was only one part left.
"Please," Omi breathed softly, straining futilely against the crimson ties binding him spread- eagle to the bed. He could feel Aya's gaze on him from across the room, even though the blindfold across his eyes kept him from knowing exactly where the redhead sat. "Please-- Aya--"
Only silence greeted him.
Letting out a soft whimper, Omi tried hard to relax in the confines of his bonds, tried to ignore the odd sensation of giving up control when nothing he did in the rest of his life prepared him for such a sacrifice. He tried to ignore the itches popping up across his body, tried to ignore the way the silk ties looped about his wrist just so, teasing as much as restraining. He tried to ignore the way his shirt was just a little too tight with the top button done up, the way his trousers chafed his skin along his waist where they didn't fit quite well enough. A thousand sensations usually surpassed by the movement of the world suddenly culminating in these minutes of stillness, of silence.
Seconds became minutes. Time ceased to matter. Each breath passed through him, and Omi couldn't help but give in, his body relaxing as much as the ties would let him, his blindfolded eyes no longer darting about in the black to try to find Aya. The world faded away, and nothing existed but that moment.
Slowly, Omi became aware of the chill of metal against his skin, the sudden breeze when his clothes slipped from him, cut skillfully from his body. Exposed, he suppressed a shiver-- the room wasn't cold, perfectly heated to keep him warm, but it still shocked him, the sudden shift in his vulnerability. Vulnerable only because he allowed it, but he couldn't break free now if he wanted to do so.
The first touch surprised him, but it always did. It came from the void, the vast nothingness of space around him, but he knew. He knew whose touch it was, the only person who could merely trace his fingertips over Omi's stomach and have him quiver in anticipation. "Aya--" Fingertips across his lips silenced him. Now wasn't the time for talking.
Warmth spread through his body slowly as kisses teasingly fell upon each inch of his bared flesh, not next to each other as would be most efficient, but lazily, drifting from one side to the other, but never repeating. Omi knew his lover was far too meticulous for that, one of his odd, endearing qualities. Soon writhing in his bonds, the semblance of peace which Omi succumbed to in his ties disappeared, and the room's air became too hot, stifling. He longed to plead with his lover, but that wasn't the way this game worked.
Slowly, far too slowly for Omi's wanting, the kisses moved lower, into more dangerous territory. He did his best to arch up into those torturous gentle touches, but the ties bound him too tightly, held him still in place, kept his treacherous hips from attaining their goal. Letting out a soft whine, Omi didn't dare voice more of his wanting than that in fear his lover would stop, would leave him tied up there. He'd done it before, walked away, leaving Omi bound and blindfolded and alone for hours on end just to teach him a lesson--
--but he always came back. He always came back.
That was the way the game worked.
